


Phoenix

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 09:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19332109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: One day, Haizaki isn’t Haizaki.





	Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> for dw user buni_emoji
> 
> prompt was 'that's not them'

One day, Haizaki isn’t Haizaki. It happens so suddenly, with such a clean delineation, that it can’t be in Aomine’s head. But no one says anything; no one else seems bothered at all. Akashi has to know, and Satsuki, at least, but they don’t treat Haizaki any differently. Perhaps Akashi is a bit more forgiving, but perhaps that is because there is less to forgive Haizaki for. 

He doesn’t steal anything the first day, and while that’s a little unusual it’s not as if there’s that much left to steal from their teammates. Rather, it’s the stance he settles into, the way he breathes, not some hyper-aggressive patchwork of obvious knockoffs, but something closer to Aomine himself, something made of a better facsimile. (Funny, how the Haizaki who seems fake is the one who does everything more faithful to the original moves, but that’s a logical spiral Aomine will never get out of if he thinks too long and hard about it.)

It’s not Haizaki, but who is this guy? Is Haizaki a robot who’s finally been upgraded? He looks the same; he walks the same and talks in the same voice, sticks out his tongue in that same stupid way, but his basketball programming’s been overhauled. He even shows up close to on time at practice. It’s weird, a change that maybe they all would have asked for if they’d cared enough to give Haizaki advice.

Maybe Haizaki’s just screwing with them. But he’s not that subtle. He wouldn’t remember to look in the mirror differently, like he’s checking out his pores instead of just admiring the whole picture. (Perhaps no one else has said anything because some guy in Murasakibara’s class, that model guy, just up and quit school, and rumors are flying that he’d gone to China--no, England--no, the States--no, adopted by a wealthy old couple--so Haizaki practicing more seems boring.) 

Sometimes, Aomine catches not-Haizaki looking at him out of the corner of his eye. Like he knows Aomine knows--like maybe Aomine’s on the list next; maybe he’s a fucking basketball robot and he doesn’t even know it. All the memories of playing with Satsuki when they were kids are false, manufactured by some creator in this weird basketball experiment. And he’ll get an upgrade of God knows what, and they all will, until--what, exactly? Or, this person (whoever they are) is not a robot but they got rid of Haizaki because he knew too much, or was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now Aomine does, too. 

(But damn, he’s starting to feel sorry for Haizaki. He never thought he’d see the day.) 

Not-Haizaki can copy moves while leaving the original user with them. If he were copying Aomine, Aomine would find that more unsettling than something with the rhythm thrown off (or, at least that’s what he tells himself). He still can’t copy Aomine’s moves, or anyone else in their year, though that’s probably for the best.

He also seems to have forgotten things, as if he’s somehow made a lateral move from years honing in on his skills to being a talented amateur, a parrot who can imitate without really understanding. So maybe that means he’s not a robot, and Aomine isn’t, either. But then that traces back to who he could be--who out there is their age, with the right height and build, the right face? (Though, something’s off about that; Aomine’s caught not-Haizaki dabbing his face as if there’s makeup on it--but makeup can’t make that much of a difference, can it?) 

There’s no right answer, and the question underneath all of this, the underwater volcano threatening to blow, is what happened to the real Haizaki? 

No matter who his new teammate is, Aomine is pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the answer to that. 

After a week, he can't take it anymore. "Satsuki, about Haizaki—"

"Don't say it," she says.

Satsuki tells him what to do all the time, but it's never quite like this, tighter than old shoes where his toes are bursting through the ends and undoing the stitches. He can't disobey that. There's something truly frightening about it, the same feeling Aomine gets when he sees the doppelganger pull moves off that aren't quite the way the real Haizaki would do them. 

So he swallows the words, washing them down with the remainder of his water bottle. He'll never get used to this guy, will he? Or will he one day forget that Haizaki was ever someone else? It seems impossible that he would, but if all of this could happen in the first place then, well, anything could.

Eventually, this proves right; eventually, Aomine does forget. Sometimes, when he looks at Haizaki, he sees someone else for a flash of a second--sometimes a brilliantly beautiful, boundless person, sometimes someone who sinks his talons into everything like a hapless raptor holding onto a life preserver. It's only for an instant, and then he forgets they were there, forgets that those images are two separate someones, neither of whom is the person in front of him. 

There is something else Aomine thinks of, too, involving fire and ashes and another kind of bird, a more bitter and sharp flavor of arrogance. But that is also without context, and easily filed away as a daydream or a fleeting fancy each time.

And sometimes he catches Satsuki looking at Haizaki, a frown on her face. They have never been the best of friends, but she's clearly not angry with him. There is no falling out, no murky past thing that Aomine is not privy to, no regret, just something even Satsuki can't put her finger on. That alone is a possibility that should make Aomine nervous, but it slides right over his consciousness like oil over water. He thinks nothing of it, nothing more of Haizaki than he always has.

He does not notice the gleam of gold in Haizaki's eyes, the brightness of his teeth, like a wolf's, but merely what he expects to see.


End file.
